from the center of the room without a view through iron bars across the small square window cut high in the two-inch thick, green metal door at the far end of the lockdown ward there on the fourth floor where security must enter 7-digit code before one can open elevator,
they observe – I consider,
do I release tiny bubbles of all that’s bottled up? pop… is now time to hold it in, show self-control? these hard questions… I don’t know what to do so I wrap my arms around me and talk nonsense, “sing, sing a song” and I screech, desperate for just one voice, just one voice to echo back at me…
silent still – will they kill?
reason spills out onto the speckled floor as I suffocate on sky blue “this-will-help-you” they force feed me from a tiny paper cup – a world waiting for my splash into it but realize I am a specimen floating in the ether wanting to wiggle my way out of the dream
that drowns and dissects me
Art: "Eccentric Man" by Dawn Richerson Available with all of Dawn's book products atlulu.com/dawnricherson.
This poem goes beyond being well written. It doesn't just take us inside the institution, but inside the mind and soul sitting in that institution -- inside his agony. Dawn, this is a brilliant piece of writing.
In my arrogant teenage years, I was one factor of several that landed my mother into a psychiatric ward. I've never forgotten the agony I felt for her, for me, for the humanity that collapse under the weight of themselves. You've brought it all rushing back, those memories. Very powerful and gripping piece. The artwork, to me, seems to be a face painted on the back of a mind that is hiding, very effective compliment.
A most powerful piece, Dawn. In a former job, I had occasions when I visited lock down wards in psychiatric hospitals, and your poem made me think of some of the suffering souls I have encountered there.
In a post-coup America, an Illinois farm boy is drawn into the resistance by his brother's death. Captured, he is given a choice: betray his friends, or the girl he loves will be lobotomized.
The deep-dive literary meditations presented as stories, poems, and essays in The American Poet Who Went Home Again, A Mosaic of My Soul at Work, have captivated and inspired readers ever since its first paperback publication in 2008.
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Carmen :-)
i'm speechless--this one gave me shivers
have no idea what it's like, but if it's like this...WOW
powerful, heartsqueezing tension in this excellent write
(((HUGS))) and love, karla. :0
In my arrogant teenage years, I was one factor of several that landed my mother into a psychiatric ward. I've never forgotten the agony I felt for her, for me, for the humanity that collapse under the weight of themselves. You've brought it all rushing back, those memories. Very powerful and gripping piece. The artwork, to me, seems to be a face painted on the back of a mind that is hiding, very effective compliment.
Love Tinka
Sandie May Angel :o)
Horrifying and claaustrophobic feel to it...
Peter